


The Glass These Hands Held

by astramaxima (shotgunsinlace)



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Banter, Cottagecore, Domestic Fluff, Growing Old Together, M/M, Retired Stobotnik, Suggestive Themes, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/astramaxima
Summary: An early evening conversation is had in the depths of their greenhouse to the sound of peaceful music and the smell of chamomile tea.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	The Glass These Hands Held

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hereticality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hereticality/gifts).



> It's a very special someone's birthday today! So I wrote them a thing based on an AU we sort of kind of have going on. ~ ❤︎

_Do you ever think about your youth?_ Stone once asked, when the walls of their hideaway still smelled of fresh wood dust and lacquer. When rain upturned the untouched earth and moss tickled his toes as they slotted the final glass panels of their peace into place. When brass hooks were installed on the ceiling, the security system—both organic and technological—were set in place, the last of the plumbing perfected, and their slates wiped clean.

_I think of when you first walked into my lab,_ Robotnik answered as he steadied the ladder Stone stood on to install a new light fixture. After he had brushed off his gloves and glowed at a job well done. After they had danced amidst the green summer leaves to the absence of music. When the fear and the uncertainty still tainted his heart after decades of governmental servitude.

_Did you ever hate me?_ Stone once asked, as their lips met at the doorway of their newly built home at the center of an unmarked forest. Where pines and aspens keep them hidden from the All Seeing Eye, and the bubbling of a nearby brook reverberates louder than the near silent hum of the doctor’s work.

_I hated the idea of you,_ Robotnik answered as he pressed his bare fingers to Stone’s graying beard. _The idea of stability and tranquility when I had crafted myself into the waking nightmare I was. Old dog, old tricks, old hat._

_Do you ever regret bringing me on?_

Hands clasped, thumbs dragged against Stone’s calloused knuckles, noses bumped. _Do you ever regret settling for me?_

_I fought for you. I fought for this. I surrendered who I was to you without fanfare or logic. Are those the actions of a man simply settling?_ Stone had taken his hands away only to push that trademark coat off his shoulders, leaving Robotnik exposed within the threshold of their harbor.

_The actions of a madman,_ Robotnik had said, as the coat took with it the weight of all he failed to control.

_Welcome home, Doctor._

___________________________________

“It’s almost bedtime,” Stone announces, carefully shutting the glass door to the greenhouse with his foot, hands occupied, “if you wanna have some fun beforehand, that is. The fire’s going and I brought us some tea while the room warms up.”

From deep within the foliage he hears a ‘tsk’, nearly drowned out by the mellow bass heavy music that drifts from the speakers hidden overhead. He recognizes the instrumental tune as one belonging to the nearly whimsical low-fidelity playlist Stone visits at the end of the day to unwind while nursing a glass of pinot noir. It is not uncommon for Robotnik to give it a listen, but it certainly isn’t his go-to type of beat.

Stone navigates the maze like pathways—through the geraniums and caladiums, to the left and past the poinsettias—towards the very back of the greenhouse, where an open workspace surrounded by ferns hosts a wooden work table and a myriad of electronic guts splayed about, mindfully kept away from the delicate greenery Stone has worked so hard to maintain despite the hivemind of robotic companions meticulously designed to regulate the internal temperature as well as test the nutrient balances in the soil.

Robotnik sits at the table, a foot propped on his stool’s rung while leaning heavily on his elbows, fiddling away at something or another with his glasses perched dangerously low on his nose. “Fun? While living with the world’s biggest buzzkill?”

“Don’t be like that.” Stone sets one of the mugs on the table, safe from errant elbows. “I never said we shouldn’t do it, just that we ought to wait until their defenses are lowered. Which may as well be never given our prime position at the very top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”

“You’ve been going off the same record for years now. I’m starting to think you don’t want us to exact our much deserved revenge.”

“I don’t,” Stone says, pulling up the spare stool to sit beside Robotnik, back slumped and both his hands wrapped around his own porcelain mug on the table. He leans to the side to push their shoulders together, forehead bumped to Robotnik’s cheek before straightening up. “But this isn’t about me.”

Robotnik puts down his tools and removes his glasses with flared nostrils, strands of hair that have escaped his hair tie falling across his face. He picks up the mug and holds it underneath his nose, taking the cloying scent of chamomile deep into his lungs. As a bona fide coffee person, he tends to enjoy the smell of tea more than he does the taste. “It _is_ about you,” he says, taking only a sip before putting the mug down, “because it’s about _me_. As you once so brilliantly put it, we’re a single operating unit.”

“Trust you to twist the meaning behind that to your advantage, you insufferable old man.”

“Don’t be mean to me unless you want to sleep alone tonight.”

Stone scoots his stool closer, easily slotting against Robotnik’s side to rest his chin on the doctor’s shoulder, a hand coming around to rub lazy circles along his back over the worn, cotton shawl. “I was thinking we could get a little freaky tonight since it’s been awhile. You get so hung up on revenge plots you forget to treat yourself every now and then.”

“Not all of us are spry young men in our fifties,” Robotnik says with no real heat, a sly smirk curling his mustache while seeking out Stone’s lips for a kiss. It is chaste, at first, until the hand not on his back comes to rest high on the inside of his thigh, squeezing lightly when Robotnik shifts to cradle the back of Stone’s head. “I haven’t taken anything for it,” he says amidst playful licks across his mouth, a gentle bite to his jaw.

“I can still make us feel good,” Stone reassures him, his hand moving the rest of the way to press against Robotnik’s groin. “God, you turn me on.”

The sudden whirlwind of sensuality comes to an equally sudden stop when Robotnik snorts, Stone joining him with a small bout of laughter. “Your diversion tactics are still impeccable, Stone. You almost give me a run for old habits.”

“I think we’re doing a lot better. At least we’re doing pretty well at dedicating our skill sets to improving our current lifestyle.” Stone leans away but keeps his hand on his doctor’s lower back. “Speaking of, it’s kind of muggy in here.”

Robotnik straightens up at this, reaching for his glasses and waving them at the ex-agent before slipping them back on. “Sophie has been out of commission since this morning,” he explains, holding up the palm-sized robot with the hesitance of a worried parent. “The data influx corrupts before it even reaches the cloud—has been doing so for over a month now and the gourds have paid the price. Clearly, she can no longer execute her job as queen of the hive.”

Stone almost asks why Robotnik chose to fix her up in the greenhouse rather than the lab, when he realizes the tools on hand. With no holographic screens or processing modules, Robotnik is not looking into fixing her.

“Have you tried updating her operating system?” he tries, thoughtlessly reaching out and placing his hand over the open chassis, keeping Robotnik from poking into her. “Maybe assigning her to a different task if the humidity is getting to her parts. She wouldn’t be the first to gather condensation.”

“The hardware is no longer able to sustain current upgrade sizes,” Robotnik explains, his tone eerily devoid of emotion. “Nothing lives forever, Stone, not even machines. I bought her fifteen years of life and she no longer serves a purpose. She’s obsolete.”

“So?” Stone unceremoniously plucks the small thing out of Robotnik’s hands, cradling it safely in his own. “Just because someone isn’t in their prime doesn’t mean they deserve to be ripped apart and used for spares. They shouldn’t be removed from where they belong because they’re ‘useless’. People aren’t machines.”

“What you’re holding is.”

Stone opens his mouth to retort but then shuts it, feeling his cheeks warm. “She still turns on… Does stuff. Maybe not as good as she used to but—”

“It’s faulty and inefficient.”

“And she’s ours,” Stone says, plucking the tools out of the doctor’s hands and getting to work on putting the machine back together. “You designed her, and I helped build her. You repurposed her all those years ago from drone to gardener. I know you’re not one for sentimentality but…” he shakes his head, biting his lower lip, “we can give her a new purpose. Bring her inside with us.”

It’s a conversation they have had countless times before, most of them taking place before their perfect escape plan took place. It had torn Robotnik apart, abandoning a lifetime’s worth of work, leaving behind the creations he poured his very life force into to be destroyed by a cruel and unfeeling military. Their personal mutiny had nearly pushed Robotnik to a point of no return, in which madness sullied every corner of his restless mind.

In the aftermath, they swore to never look back. A difficult and often broken oath during those first couple of years, but one that slowly became easier to abide by. Robotnik had turned his genius towards alternate methods of expression—his patent for the latest Mars rover published under a pseudonym resting on NASA’s desk, for example—but there has been one exception to the rule.

Sophie was small enough to fit in Stone’s suit pocket at the time of the fray, and he had snuck her out for reasons that wholly escaped him. As it stands, she is the only reminder of their time as government assets, a passion project born out of Stone’s request to be taught the basics of robotics. Likely due to her programming, she tends to whir whenever Stone is nearby.

Having her rest so quietly in his palm twists painfully in his chest.

“She’s our baby girl,” he says, aware of how unfair he is being when he had been the one to tell Robotnik that leaving his machines behind was the only option. He can empathize with the doctor’s desire to permanently decommission her, and the added context of Robotnik’s refreshed urge to exact revenge on the military sheds light on the heavy mood that has been permeating them for days.

They lapse into silence as Stone works, carefully slipping the motherboard back into place and meticulously connecting the silicon fibers as his tea grows cold. Sadness morphs into anger, which shifts towards the field of acceptance, then back to bone-deep sorrow.

“We’re worth more than what we can produce,” Stone says, starting when Robotnik reaches into his hands to pluck Sophie right back. “Hey.”

“I’ve got her,” Robotnik murmurs, inspecting Stone’s work with an appreciative hum. “Job well done.”

“Thank you.”

Outer shell back in place and seamlessly fused, Robotnik takes the time to polish the pristine white alloy and red lens. When she does not respond to the command input to power on, Robotnik shakes his head and hands her back over to Stone. “She may need to spend the night in her charging dock. We’ll see how tomorrow goes.”

Stone nods his head, softly dragging the back of his fingers across the sleek surface with a peaceful smile. “You spoil me.”

“You built us a home,” Robotnik says, waving his hands to gesture its adjacent greenhouse. “The least I can do is listen about your attachment to an outdated chunk of hardware.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Stone says, and gets a smack to his arm for his troubles. “Ready to head inside?”

“Did you water the salvia today?”

“I was patching up the roof tiles.”

“Multitasking never killed anyone. I have to do _everything_ around here.”

“Automating everything doesn’t count as you actually doing the things.”

“Calling me lazy, huh?”

“Calling you a cheater.” Stone steals a quick kiss before slipping off the stool with a smile. “Go ahead and make the last rounds, I’ll set Sophie to charge and make sure everything’s the way you like it.”

Robotnik grumbles but agrees, unfolding himself off the stool and onto his feet with a loud stretch that makes his vertebrae pop in multiple places. “Turn the mattress heat off. I don’t feel like overheating when my knees are getting acquainted with my ears.”

“Hm, saucy.”

The warm yellow lights of the greenhouse dim enough to allow them safe movement, and Robotnik props open a glass pane to let the temperature even itself out while the master system gets revamped due to Sophie’s unscheduled retirement. Despite the banter, Stone takes a moment to check on the peppers in the vegetable division, deeming them ready for harvest. He makes a mental note to do so first thing tomorrow.

They meet in the middle, with Robotnik taking Stone by the hips and bringing him in for a kiss to the forehead, a hand resting over Sophie where she rests inside his shirt pocket. “I’ll finish up,” Robotnik says with a hint of tenderness so earnest Stone can feel his chest attune itself to the same frequency.

Amidst the vibrant greens and the splashes of color meticulously tended to, they linger. Lips to Stone’s forehead, bridge of his nose tickled by the soft prickle of Robotnik’s well-kept gray beard. “Wear your band tonight,” he says, pointedly rubbing his thumb along the base of Robotnik’s ring finger.

“Anything else?”

“Just the band.”

“I meant if there are any other commands since you think yourself in charge here, you dirty old man.”

Stone laughs, patting Robotnik’s chest as they pull away from each other, if only for a little while. “You’re an awful influence.”

“I choose to believe we simply compliment each other. Like government and corruption. Wine and cheese. Matter and antimatter. The DeLorean to my genius.”

“Alright, I get it. The less you dawdle the sooner you can get your cute butt to bed,” Stone says, delivering one more kiss before heading out. “Oh, and grab the mugs.”

“ _Everything_ , I reiterate.”

Stepping outside, Stone shuts the glass door behind him. 

The height of summer settles on his skin, its warm breeze rustling the surplus of leaves that serve as their cover out in the wilderness. He fills his lungs with the smell of cinder and smoke, a distinct sensation of home settling deep into the very marrow of his bones.

Patting his pocket and smiling at the pleasant weight of their little juiced-out robot, Stone turns his sights to the front door along with the mat that reads _You’re Definitely Not Welcome in Our House_ , and reminds himself to, once again, attempt to talk his spouse into getting holiday themed mats. Since it is just their perfect type of humor.


End file.
